


Standard Issue

by Catchclaw



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the softness that surprised James, the rose petal brush that lay between Q's lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standard Issue

It was the softness that surprised James, the rose petal brush that lay between Q's lips.

It wasn't the quick arch of Q's back, the way he pushed off of the wall like a pole that's found its opposite and drove himself up into James' arms.

No.

That, James was used to.

Expected, even.

He'd always earned full marks for his kisses.

Nor were the pleased little hops from Q's throat into his any great shock. The slide of a clumsy hand beneath his coat, over his ribs and deep into the white creases.

Routine. Standard issue.

Even the wide-eyed whumph he'd seen just before his eyes his mouth closed had been familiar.

But the waves of soft under his tongue? Those were certainly a surprise.

He titled his head. Dug his fingers into wool and yanked Q closer. Trying for a better angle. An answer.

And again: Q did as expected. Cut of nails into James' neck? Check. The fast punch of his heart into James' right breast pocket, the one that usually held his passport and second-best knife? Right.

But there was still that damn peach fuzz of a mouth, more like cotton sheets than silk despite the sharp corners of his teeth but gods, what was it? Where was the mystery here?

James' kisses were leisurely, careful, but he recognized that his attention to detail, his insatiable curiosity, was leading his lips towards worshipful and tender and perhaps even sweet.

None of which, he'd already decided, the boy was ready for. So it was damn well time for him to stop. 

Really, it was.

James trusted his instincts even when they annoyed the shit out of him. Like now. Like when his body wanted to abort his carefully-laid plans and bloody well improvise on the skinny Stradivarius from Q branch he'd worked so hard to get pinned to a wall deep in one of Churchill's dark tunnels, and fuck, he knew better. He did.

So he tipped his head back and stared, let the lion come to play on his face. Watched Q pretend not to squirm.

It was delightful. Almost the best part of the exercise.

"Um," Q managed inelegeantly, his eyes twitching, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, the ones that were--

"Dry as the bloody Sahara," James whispered, lifting his thumb to touch, to confirm his suspicions. "No wonder. The desert on the outside and a whole oasis within."

He looked up and there was Q, dark eyes narrow and appraising. Ah.

"What are you on about?" he huffed, as if his hands weren't still tangled in James' shirt. As if James' knee weren't tucked expertly between his thighs. As if his glasses weren't lost somewhere in the tunnel behind.

James smiled, which felt a little odd. Not to smirk.

"Have a nice day, Q," he breathed, leaning down to trace the borders of the bloody Sahara. "Be seeing you."

And the indignant sighs and half-hearted curses that caught his ear as he sauntered back towards civilization, towards the bright lights of Queen and Country? Those were standard issue, too.


End file.
